


Nature

by explodingnebulae



Series: Vampire!Agatha [4]
Category: Dracula (TV 2020)
Genre: Blood Drinking, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Broken Bones, Death, F/M, Gen, Vampire!Agatha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:21:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24022768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/explodingnebulae/pseuds/explodingnebulae
Summary: ‘Because you need to feed,’ she told herself too often. Nearly fifty years as a vampire and she still craved blood at every and any given moment. Vampires were like that. Vampires were like a lot of things.Faced with Dracula's lust for blood, Agatha's self-control falters.
Relationships: Dracula & Agatha Van Helsing, Dracula/Agatha Van Helsing
Series: Vampire!Agatha [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1723690
Comments: 7
Kudos: 56





	Nature

**Author's Note:**

> Unfortunately, no sex in this part! But please enjoy nonetheless!

_Agatha Van Helsing never lost control_.

A lie she told herself over and over. A vampire cannot betray its nature, not entirely, and she was testimony to that. No creature could overcome baser instincts, not when survival was at stake. 

_The war had run her ragged, to the point of weeks without rest or proper feeding. She’d steal away for a moment, trying to find blood that wasn’t tainted by the smell of death. The human had to be alive. The dying were always her safest bet, those beyond chance of recovery, those left behind on the battlefield gasping for breath, the life leaving their eyes._

_Agatha discovered rather quickly that feeding from the dying had more negative side effects than it was worth, but she persisted. Her skin paled, her hair thinned, her hunger grew near intolerable. Times like those, she wished she had Dracula in her head, just so she could argue against what would be his very obvious answer of feed._

_She had tried and failed for forty-five long years, and she hardly wanted him awake to know of the chaos that currently ravaged the world. He would have a field day, taking whomever he so pleased. Scientists working to the bone to produce stronger, faster, more effective weapons of mass destruction. Generals and strategists, black operations agents, spies, warriors on both sides, hungry for bloodshed, for justice, for stability._

_Occasionally, she had argued with him, imagining him in her mind as she wandered the camps at night. He’d tell her to just give in, just a taste, just feed on one truly living soul and be done with it. Any vampire with a brain still in their skull would. It was natural for her to be starved, to want every ounce and then imbibe in even more. She was a vampire, after all, and vampires were not as complicated as she had conjectured._

“Something to eat, a bit of company.”

\-------------------------------------------------

_She had been on the earth for eighty-seven years, over half of which had been spent in a state of undead, dracul, nosferatu; A vampire._

_And the death around her, seeping into her bones, reminded her constantly. Every day another bone to set, another amputation, another transfusion. Blood was around her constantly, stale and fresh, and she felt her patience dwindle by the second. She would bark at nurses, throw instrument trays, snap saws in half with her hands. All to keep her fangs from showing, her eyes from flooding crimson; anything to abate the beast she so vehemently claimed not to be._

_Agatha drew in a breath as the morning sun crept into the tent, bathing her pallid face in its iridescence. She hadn’t fed in over two weeks. Too many deaths too quickly. Too much work to do, not enough sleep in the world, and not a second to herself._

_She turned to the clock that ticked away at the wall. Six-thirty, a whole two hours of sleep and she was awake again, ready to take on yet another blood-soaked day. Agatha sat up, stretched, and grabbed at her head, thumbs massaging at her temples. Had she not gone through this several times in the past, she would have never guessed vampires could even have headaches._

‘Because you need to feed,’ _she told herself too often. Nearly fifty years as a vampire and she still craved blood at every and any given moment. Vampires were like that. Vampires were like a lot of things._

_An unfamiliar face walked into the doctor’s resting tent, an accented ‘knock, knock’ sounding before a man presented himself._

_Agatha turned her head to take the man before her in. He was little taller than she was, though that hadn’t said much as she was a particularly tall woman. He was young, his olive uniform without stains, life in his eyes, brunette hair cut neatly under his beret. A french soldier, clearly._

_“Pardon, madame. I thought this was the tent of the off-duty doctors. I’m afraid I may be a little lost.” The young man’s hurried speech gave Agatha’s headache no relief, and her thin patience no quarter. The assumption, however, she was used to. No man wanted to submit his life to the hands of a woman when healthy. They didn’t care whose hands brought them back to life, pleading for the pain to stop, begging for morphine, for death._

_She shook the thought from her head and dropped her hands into her lap. “No, you’re in the right place. I’m Dr. Van Helsing, you may call me Agatha. What can I do for you?”_

_“I heard there was a lady-doctor!” He straightened his posture. “I am Corporal-Major Mathieu de la Fontaine. Please, forgive my presumptuous behavior?”_

_At least he had manners._

_“I was to report for a physical, madame. My platoon just arrived, my lieutenant directed me to your tent,” explained the Corporal-Major as Agatha stood. She made sure not to step too closely to him so soon after waking. The sound of a relaxed pulse in such a high-stress environment would sing too sweetly to her. “If you wish, I can wait until another doctor comes by, perhaps?”_

_She looked him over and shook her head. “No, that won’t be necessary. Why did he send you to the off-duty tent?”_

_Mathieu frowned, his discomfort plain on his face. “The active tents are..”_

_“Being used for more pressing matters. I see,” Agatha finished for him and the pitcher of water on the desk. “Might I offer you something to drink while I fetch the forms? We don’t keep them in here.”_

_“Oui, j’ai soif. But I have the necessary papers here,” he said as he reached into the pocket of his vest. She grabbed the papers offered to her and immediately started reading over them. “Name, date of birth, all of the information you could need down to my blood type.”_

_“O-positive,” she muttered to herself. Good. He could possibly be of great use, maybe even save lives. “Do you know how valuable your blood is, Monsieur de la Fontaine?”_

_“I heard that vampires prefer O-negative,” he joked with a laugh, his teeth still white and all in place. If only he understood how funny the situation truly was. “I apologize, I shouldn’t make such jokes during war.”_

_“One should always cling to humor, even in dark times such as these. It makes managing stress a little easier.” Agatha smiled at him and directed him to take a seat on the cot opposing her own. She could hear his pulse as he walked by her. Slow, unperturbed, untainted. “Besides, I think vampires would be more likely to choose victims based on who they are and not what type of blood they have.”_

_She poured him a glass of water, handed it to him, and continued reading over admission charts. He had earned his rank quite rapidly early in the war, but clearly had time to rest between then and now. How that was possible with the Nazis having nearly seized all of France was beyond her, but she would not question it._

_He was twenty-seven, approximately 180 centimeters, 80 kilograms, no visual or hearing impairments. No history of breathing trouble, was vaccinated for Polio…_

_The more Agatha read, the more she wondered why he had even been in need of a physical. Or why he was even in a war at all. He had a law degree from the University of Bordeaux._

_“Alright, Corporal Major,” she began as she strode to a small filing cabinet filled with extra supplies. “I’m going to have to ask you to strip.”_

_His physical went without a hitch, though Agatha could hear his pulse like it was beating in her own ears. He carried an interesting scent, most of the French did. History was important to them, culture, and all of those sweet indulgences she had refrained from in life._

_“Van Helsing,” he started as he fixed his beret in place. “That is not an English name.”_

_“No, it isn’t. My family is Dutch. I guess you can say I’ve lived in England most of my life.” Most of her afterlife, at least._

_“How fortunate for us that you are here. My life could be in no better hands, I’m sure of it. I’ve never seen anyone with such a steady posture,” he returned with another smile before leaving the tent, completed forms in-hand._

_Agatha realized then that she had been holding her breath during the examination, careful not to take in too much of the young man. She did not need to know his plans, where he was going to be, when he’d be alone._

_Her day passed with agonizing slowness, each action seeming tedious as she cleaned infections and set up infusions. Infusions. She had to make a note of de la Fontaine, to suggest him to another possible donor, but did not want to imply she wished to do the task._

_By the end of her shift, she was covered in a slew of liquids ranging from blood to she wasn’t quite sure, but it smelled worse than death. And a vampire knew the stench of death better than most. The sun was setting in the sky and she knew what awaited her. She had a full night to herself, a full night of rest, a full night of hunger._

_“Dr. Van Helsing!”_

_A newly familiar voice caught her attention as she went to hit the nearest body of water. She needed to feel clean, if only for a moment._

_“Corporal-Major. How are you settling in?” She did not want to see him right now, but was polite all the same._

_“Very well, all things considered. I saw you working earlier and thought maybe you could use a drink?”_

_If he only knew._

_Agatha shook her head and watched his smile drop a little. How hopeful and full of life the young were. She would be lying if she said that she didn’t wish he would hold to it. “I’m afraid I’m in desperate need of some form of cleaning.”_

_“The baths are usually occupied with the men,” Mathieu returned with a frown, his smile gone._

_“And most don’t mind when a woman walks in, I assure you,” she noted, her words sardonic. Even a four-hundred year old vampire had more control of his tongue than they did. “I have somewhere private I like to go.”_

_“Perhaps after?” He was a persistent thing and Agatha turned the idea over in her head._

_While she did not drink alcohol, or at least hadn’t tried to, since receiving Communion nearly half a century ago, perhaps there was no harm in the company of a few happy faces. After all, humans were social creatures and his life would most likely be snuffed out on the battlefield. Agatha had been a friend of death at this point and knew she would be able to handle it should he grow on her._

_“Perhaps,” she echoed._

_He gave her the information of where he would be and who he would be with if all went according to plan. She nodded, made sure she stressed that there was a possibility of her absence, and continued her trek away from camp._

_There was a waist-deep creek a couple hundred yards from camp, hidden amongst trees too thick to fight through. It was her private place to bathe, to think, to escape the gurgles of the dying. When she came to it, she stripped bare and sank into the cool water, mindful to not step on any possible life underfoot._

_Agatha closed her eyes and let her chest still as she submerged herself in the water, her body sinking to the bottom. Of all the benefits being a vampire had, being able to lie at the bottom of that particular creek was squarely number one on her list at that moment._

_She was still for nearly half an hour, her mind playing memories like films in a theatre. Some were her own, others were his, and all of them eased her tense muscles, an unfortunate side effect of not feeding. She could find an animal, surely, but they provided little energy. There were many ways Agatha could feed. The dying, the sick, those too weak to carry on. She could steal donations._

_She wouldn’t. The dying still had living blood, but they were exhausted, often emotional and frantic. The ones resigned to death already tasted as such and she would be sick for days after feeding on the ill._

_She considered drinking from the Germans, but she would sooner be staked than dine on a Nazi. To hear those thoughts in her head...No, bullets would suffice. Mortars would suffice. She would sooner let the streets run with their blood than dare to feed from one._

_The answer was plain, but she refused. She was more than a beast. She knew herself and understood the rules by which she lived. Agatha had taken an oath as a doctor to help any life in need. She could not feed on the living, she mustn’t, and her fists clenched as she rose from the water._

_Agatha breathed in and opened her eyes to see the sun had at last gone to rest. Dark enough to wash, dark enough to relax, dark enough to sneak back to base without anyone noticing; her clean uniform a blessing for which she’d never be grateful enough._

_She caught sight of new faces as she entered the camp. All varying ages, some clearly lying to make themselves older, others very obviously lying about medical conditions, not that the lieutenant-colonel cared. He had lives to waste ever since the Americans joined a few months prior. Those were the truly fresh faces, the ones ready and eager for blood, for glory._

_Their enthusiasm wouldn’t survive the week, but hopefully they would._

_She spotted the Corporal-Major among some other new individuals and cursed herself when he met her eye and waved her over. Agatha knew she had belabored her answer, but apparently that had meant little to the young man as he reached down and pulled two bottles of wine from a sac._

_“I know we’re not supposed to have them, but I couldn’t resist. English wine doesn’t...settle right.” A laugh, the other men joining in. They were French, too. Mathieu looked to Agatha. “Lady’s choice. Red or white?”_

_“I enjoy both,” she said reflexively, damning herself. They weren’t her words. “Enjoyed, I should say. I don’t drink.”_

_“Mon amie! That won’t do. Middle of a war and you don’t drink? How ever do you settle your nerves?” His response earned him an impartial smile. “You’ll return to your husband a hysterical mess.”_

_Her husband?_

_She glanced at her ring and felt something ache inside of her, overriding her hunger for a moment. The weight pressed upon her chest and burrowed into the pit of her throat. He was definitely no husband. She wouldn’t even begin to entertain such an idea. It was entirely laughable._

_“Ah, Dr. Van Helsing, je désolé,” de la Fontaine’s voice broke through her thoughts and she blinked at him, confused. “You must miss him very much.”_

_She did._

_“He’s probably sleeping. It seemed to be his favorite pastime before I left.” She brushed the subject off, burying the memory of him as best she could before smiling at Mathieu. “Red.”_

_“I knew you were a woman of taste. Now that we’ve made the important decisions, I would like to introduce you to some members of my platoon.”_

_She learned the names of each man, all coming from different backgrounds but all ready to get back into the action. They were confident, placing much on faith, and as the cork popped out of the bottle, they cheered._

_Mathieu handed her the bottle first, a grin on his face._

_It struck her then, that in the months she had been there, no one once invited her to do such a thing. Naturally, she had patients in for consultations, follow-ups before they were flown out of the zone. Occasionally, a man would wander into her tent and she would be forced to break a finger or two, secretly delighting at the snap of their quick but effective punishment._

_They’d say nothing, of course, lest they compromise themselves in the process._

_She reached for the bottle and breathed the scent of the wine in. The spirit smelled nearly unrecognizable to her, bitter, too harsh. An idea struck her then. This was nothing more than another test._

_Can vampires drink alcohol or consume anything that was not blood?_

_She brought the bottle to her lips and took a slow sip, letting it soak her tongue before swallowing._

_Her stomach churned almost immediately and she swore she could hear his voice calling her foolish. She handed the bottle back, her hand coming to her mouth, before she hurriedly shuffled away. Agatha bent over, grabbing at the nearest object to support herself as her body purged itself of the wine. She looked to her right, to see that it was Mathieu holding her steady and immediately felt embarrassed, searching for an excuse._

_“Are you alright? I know the English don’t have taste, but it couldn’t have been that bad.” He was a poor liar and even worse at hiding his emotions. His concern might as well have had flashing neon lights pointing to it. Agatha heard his quickening pulse drumming wildly. The rapid tempo of the deep pumps of his heart._

_“I’ll be fine. I haven’t eaten since yesterday? The day before? I should have known better than to try alcohol as my first meal,” she explained, not entirely lying. She couldn’t remember the last time she fed. She wiped her mouth as she fixed her posture. “I think it would be wise if I retired for the night.”_

_Mathieu nodded, let her go, but did not move away from her. “Let me assist you back to your tent. I will not see a sick woman go unattended.”_

_“I appreciate the concern, but I am a war physician and have been through much worse than a stomach ache. I will be fine. Please, return to your men and give them my warm wishes.” Agatha would not be alone with someone so healthy now that her stomach demanded proper feeding, snarling furiously at her._

_He gave a moment’s pause, frowning at her, but acquiesced to her wishes. She could feel his eyes on her back as she walked back to her section of camp._

_The sounds of the camp layered in her mind as she tried to find sleep, turning restlessly upon her cot. Everything within her pushed her out of bed and she sat up, her stare empty as she tried to cling to rationality. Logic could not play here, logic would tell her to feed. Rationality considered the great possibility of consequence._

_Her nails extended and hardened faster than she had ever felt them. She grit her teeth as she felt them scrape against the metal, screeching unpleasantly. If she let go, and she knew she mustn’t, Agatha would find herself unable to save herself. She needed a minute._

Just a minute. 

One… Minute… 

_Her eyes slipped shut as she drew in a breath and searched for a familiar face. He was the last person she needed to see, the one who would tempt her forward, let go, release the beast. But he was there, nonetheless, staring at her from the sea, the water to his chest in the grey light of morning._

One…

_Her time in Transylvania. Crimson turned black in the moonlight as it poured in from the small window. The pillows stained as a gurgle sounds in a throat, a cry from another._

Min…

_Jonathan Harker before her, telling her the story of Count Dracula as his fiancee sat to her left. She had been such a frightened girl and with great cause. Her basement, her study, her refuge._

His memory. 

_How wonderful she had tasted on his lips. He had torn through a convent, armed and ready with wolves, but for all the entertainment… She was the unexpected main course. And she could feel his teeth sinking into her neck as if they were her own._

...minu…

His blood on her tongue as she suckled at his wrist. 

_Breathe._

_Agatha shot up, her jaw unclenching as her eyes opened, and looked out into the night. She had been trying to sleep for nearly five hours, but could not stand to be around others any longer. The glorious stench of blood was too close to her and she would not let herself lose control._

_An animal._

_She would find something small, something to curb her appetite enough to sleep. The watch was doubled at night and she would have to be careful. Nothing she hadn’t done before, nothing she wouldn’t have to do a thousand times more before this damned war was over, it seemed._

_Agatha found her escape and took it, slipping into the forest and wasted not a second getting as deep as she could. Gunfire sounded in the background, most animals would be hiding, then. She would have to locate them by sound._

_She heard a heartbeat, too close, too strong, too human._

_Too soon._

_“Mon amie?”_

_Dammit._

_“Mathieu, what are you doing out here?” she asked without turning around to look at him. If she looked, he would see, he would know, and she would have to either kill him or drug him. “You should be back at base.”_

_She heard his weight shift, a sigh leaving his lips as his heart rate settled. So strong, so lively beneath his skin, she could still hear the pump, pump, pumping away in his chest. She raked her claw against the inside of her palm to keep time with it._

_“I could say the same for you,” he replied, voice neither defending nor accusing. “But I could not sleep and decided to inspect our surroundings, see if there were any vantage points for Hitler’s puppets to have.”_

_He took a step forward, misplaced his footing, tripped, stumbled, caught himself on a tree._

_Agatha instinctively turned to help but was drawn to his hand. Bark and dirt may have gotten in the way, but the aroma was undeniable._

_She clenched her fists, damning every aspect of her existence, cursing Dracula to stay in his box and rot. They settled on it not having been entirely his fault, but it was easier to blame him when he refused to listen to her, refused to answer her._

_“Nothing to fret over, ju--”_

_Agatha was inches away from him, his hand in hers as she inspected the wound. It was nothing more than a scrape but the potency of his blood was irresistible._

_“Dr. Van Helsing?” he called, his pulse increasing. She refused to look up, refused to look at him as she stared down at the red in the night. “Your teeth…”_

_“Yes, they do that.” She was caught. “I’m a vampire.”_

_She turned to him, sparing him nothing as she released his wrist. Her teeth jagged, eyes red, and claws sharp to points…_

_“They aren’t real,” Mathieu protested, refusing to believe what was in front of him. Another Adisa. “Dracula is a fictional character, a silly creature from a picture made to scare people.”_

_She brought a finger to his lips, silencing him. “I have lain with the Devil and know him plain. And he is far more terrifying than any film will ever be able to portray.”_

_He stared blankly at her, unsure of how or where to move. She could smell his indecision in the air and took advantage of it. Agatha threw him to the ground and listened to the way his ribs cracked beneath her force. She grabbed his face in her hand and tilted his neck, holding it to expose as much flesh as possible, her fingers tightening. His jaw snapped under the pressure, the pain causing him to cry out. The sweet note echoing in her ears as she stared at the artery pounding furiously at his throat._

_He tried to say something, tried to protest, but she gnashed her teeth into his skin, sinking deep into his artery and drank. She could hear the snap of his neck, as she pushed harder against his smashed jaw. His life flooded into her, his memories, his dreams…_

\------------------------------------------------------------

Agatha gasped as her eyes opened. The light of the day was fading as she lay tangled up on the couch in her study. Dracula’s naked body curled tighter against her and drew her closer, placing a kiss at her temple. She pressed into him, secretly delighting in the comfort of his hold. 

The study was the darkest room in the house, save the cellar, and he refused to sleep in the box of dirt that she, in fact, brought from Transylvania. Her bedroom had too thin of curtains for him to be comfortable laying in while she slept. 

“Everything alright?” he asked quietly after some time of holding her, his breath creeping over her skin as he spoke. 

“I’m fine, just hungry,” she replied and shrugged out of his grip, immediately missing the warmth and pressure of him against her. 

“Nightmare, I take it?” He sat up after her, following her with his eyes as she stood and took a few steps forward. 

“You weren’t listening?” She turned to face him, genuinely surprised.

“Not this time,” he hummed cheekily, his eyes moving hungrily over her form. “You looked exhausted this morning after our shower. I figured you could use some time to recuperate. I did it for fifty years, I won’t fault you a few hours.”

“So you just what? Stayed on the couch all day?” 

His brows knit together defensively at her question as though trying to think of a smart remark. But his face relaxed as he leaned back against the cushions, sighing in defeat. 

Her dream nearly made her forget that she had finally fished him out of the sea. Seeing him stretching against her couch, faking a yawn, gave her all the reassurance she needed. When he stood and pecked her lips, she was doubly reassured.

“What else was I supposed to do? You are the worst vampire in the history of vampires, one dark room, while the rest of the place is swimming in sunlight,” he shivered, repulsed by the very notion of stepping into the sun. She would break him of it in time. 

Her stomach twisted in a knot and she gave an annoyed breath. Ever since she fed from him the night prior, Agatha hadn’t been able to rid herself of her hunger. Not during their short break, where he begrudgingly accepted the glass she poured him, not before she went to sleep, not now. 

Her reserves were well-stocked once she knew for certain that she was waking him, she would manage.

“You could have gotten up, I would have gone back to sleep. There are plenty of books in here to read and I doubt you would have been bored,” she returned, her voice unintentionally sharp. With a breath, she relaxed. “Come, I’m sure you’re hungry and you need to put clothes on. Neighbors are as nosy as old nuns and I don’t need them asking why there’s a naked man in my home.”

“Get thicker drapes.” He pressed his lips to her forehead and she went tense under him, her stomach flipping angrily again. “I don’t claim to be an expert, but I’m certain you’re supposed to be relaxed after sex, joyful even. Why don’t you tell me about your nightmare?”

“No,” she shot back as she opened the door, ensuring that the sun was down before stepping into the hallway. She took the short walk through the hall and stopped at her bedroom door, knowing full well that it was not going to be an easy sight to see. 

However, Agatha had not anticipated the magnitude of the destruction they caused. It looked like a crime scene.

The sheets were torn, jumbled mess on the floor along with her pillows, both stained with blood. The wood of her headboard had an impressive chunk splintered from it and the mattress was just slightly askew on the frame. She blinked as she stepped inside, immediately gathering the sheets and comforter in her hands. There was no saving them, and she’d need at least a new headboard. Maybe metal. 

Had they really been that rough?

Yes. 

Had she enjoyed herself as much as the heat dripping down to her core at the memory?

More. 

The sheets were discarded, they were dressed, and the room was cleaned. Dracula mainly talked about nothing important, trying to lure her back into the bed. As enticing as the idea was her hunger gnawed at her interminably, closing off her mind to anything else. 

“You really don’t feed from the vein?” he asked as he stood in her kitchen once again, Agatha grabbing the decanter from the liquor cabinet. “Agatha, you know you’re starving yourself.”

“It suffices,” she replied, voice even. The thought of feeding from a living human appealed to her less when he provoked her. “Not everyone is as gluttonous as you.”

“Gluttony or not, you’re still feeling my hunger. You and I both know that you won’t be satisfied until you’ve drunk your fill from the nearest vagrant,” he postulated, his hand covering hers around the thick glass container, the blood within swayed. She released the neck of the decanter, letting him take it and grabbed two glasses from the same cabinet. Two, beautiful, crystal, custom designs etched into them. 

He caught them in his peripheral and felt like marble, a breath. He approved. “But you… you, don’t feed from vagrants, do you? Agatha, have I rubbed off on you?” 

She set the glasses in front of him with little patience, ignoring his poor attempts at getting her to admit to something he already knew. Agatha was a woman of logic, she always had been, but the way he stared at her, a wolf, had her clenching her teeth. Her hunger grew. The tempter, the snake in the garden. 

“No, I don’t. I feed from specifically selected people based on health. Donations.”

“Donations,” he echoed, disappointed as he poured them each a glass. “It’s unlike you to take advantage of people.”

A drop of guilt fell through her and spread through her veins. He spoke the truth, but she had little other choice. Either take the bags or risk taking lives. It was simple but felt wrong, not entirely aligned with the urges gnashing their teeth from within. _His_ urges. 

Damn him.

Agatha looked at the fine crystal, the liquid within causing her to salivate, swallowing as her gaze shifted to the much thicker glass of the decanter. While imprudent and nearly uncivilized, the gifts she had made for them--no, just for him, they were no couple--would remain unharmed. She could feel him watching her, studying her, and wondered what she must look like. Her silence deafening as she stood, motionless, her eyes shifting between the glass and the decanter. Self-control or submission.

“Agatha,” he mouthed, letting his breath form her name as it left his lips. Dracula knew what weighed her down, what bore so relentlessly through her, just as he knew the only proper solution. 

With a breath, Agatha shifted her weight and took the glass he offered. There was a glint of surprise in his expression when she moved her gaze to him. He was only six inches taller than her, but he towered over her, the constant abyss that lured her in.

“Cheers.” He raised his glass to hers, his eyes darkening as he brought it to his lips.She was too busy drinking to make a snide remark about his inability to control his histrionics. 

The liquid streamed down her throat with ease as she finished it quickly. Agatha opened her eyes, having not realized she closed them and saw him still watching her. He hadn’t moved, the rim of the glass resting comfortably at his bottom lip, the blood no closer to his mouth. 

“I said before that I was hungry, it _is_ your doing, after all,” she specified as the grips of her hunger made no attempts to loosen. “Go on, I think you’ll find it to your liking.” 

He sniffed at the contents of his before taking a sip. A chilling grin spread upon his lips, jagged edges of his teeth visible, as he brought the glass down. His claw tapped lightly at the glass as he ruminated on the flavors; his smile grew before he finished it, gluttonous as always. The veneer chipping away.

As if she was one to talk. 

Another glass shared between them both and then another, draining the decanter as Dracula probed her, antagonizing the beast of her hunger. He relented only when the container was empty. 

“Alright, Agatha, have it your way. But I still need to feed properly and I’m sure the people are very much alive, war being over and all that. The victorious afterglow of battle is a beautiful thing, fills your chest with so much...life.” His words sent a chill to the center of her spine, splintering off like lightning through her nerves.

“Surely you don’t think I’m going to let you leave to do as you please?” Agatha watched as he turned on the sink, rinsing his glass out and then hers, setting them carefully into the basin below. 

“No, I don’t. In fact, I expect you to accompany me,” returned the Count with a smirk. “I know you’ll follow me if I decide to leave on my own. But I’d much rather have you at my side while the night is still young.”

“A moonlit stroll?”

“If nothing else. I’ve been in a box for fifty years, I need to stretch my legs, get a taste for what life is like. I need information and your bags aren’t giving me enough,” he said as he stood close to her and took her hands in his. The Count’s thumb traced over the ring on her finger, his face softening almost imperceptibly. 

Against her better judgment, Agatha agreed to his proposal, shoving a flask in her coat before they left, just in case. 

They walked for what seemed like eternity, winding up and down streets, through alleys, all in silence. Agatha thought it wise to keep moving, lest she catch an all too enticing scent on the breeze. She thought for a moment, wondered where they could go, and directed them towards the water. The cliffs were a beautiful sight and mostly peaceful. Since the war, it had been a place for the occasional petty crime. Drug deals, vandalization, indecent exposure twice on the same day, by the same man. 

He seemed preoccupied, lost in thought. His silence disturbed her and she contemplated listening in but tucked her arm under his instead. If they were going to be out this late at night, she might as well take every precaution to not get stopped by anyone. She could feel the flask burning in her pocket; craved what was inside of it, despite knowing she did not need it.

She wanted it. 

His pace slowed when he felt her worm her arm between his side and bicep, hooking into his elbow. No one had done that for centuries, not without prompting, not without his opiate, not without the promise of something more. She would never stop surprising him, even as he could hear the dam of her self-control splinter into ever growing faults. 

She needed to feed.

“Have you finally grown tired of hearing your own voice?” she asked when the silence became too heavy.

“Never.” He wore the grin of an alleycat as they walked farther along the cliff. The water below them churned against the rocks, a sound so familiar she was able to tune it out and focus on his words. “I figured you would want to give me a tour to keep me from draining someone dry. But don’t worry, I’ll be sure to drain your stockpile when we get back.” 

“Of that I have no doubt,” she admitted and pulled her arm from him. He let out a breath of disapproval and pulled her back to him, hand tight around her waist. “Afraid I’ll wand--”

She could smell it. 

Fresh, alive, a numbing song in her head as she struggled for control over the snarling monstrosity within her. How could she have not noticed it earlier? How did she not hear, not know? Dracula had been…

He’d been silent. 

“Count Dracula!” She struggled against him as his other hand came around her and held her back to his chest. “Release me at once.”

“Need I remind you that it was you who led me here? My dear, you’ve been sniffing out something to eat this whole time.” His accusation burned like fire at her ears and she shoved her elbow into his chest. “You can’t fight it forever, you know.” 

“I most certainly can, now release me so I can assess the situation. I’m a doctor and there is clearly someone in need of assistance. Stay here. I don’t want you killing a possible patient.”

He gave an annoyed growl and let her go, Agatha sparing not a second to hunt down the scent. She felt starved, nearly mad with hunger as her feet delivered her to the scene, blood staining the ground black in the moonlight. 

A young woman. Red of hair, short and unconscious on the ground. There was blood pooling from a wound in her abdomen. Agatha knelt beside the girl, no more than twenty-five, and began inspecting her, trying to bring her to consciousness. But her blood sang to the former nun, lilting sweet poetry to the beast within her, mesmerizing, astounding, addictive, alive.

Something in her broke, and her fingers entered the wound. Hot, inviting, untainted. No organs had been harmed, and Agatha curled her fingers, tearing at the flesh of the woman’s abdomen, and brought them to her mouth as she heard an agonized moan from below.

Discordant, pitiful, and a distraction as Agatha lapped every last trace of blood from her fingers. She brought her free hand to hold the girl’s--Anna’s--mouth shut and looked down at the poor thing with blood-tinged eyes. “Please, be still. For both of our sake. I won’t be long.” 

‘ _Don’t be slop--_ ’ 

She shut him out of her mind as she clamped down on the girl’s carotid. With a snarl, Agatha tore it from her neck and descended upon the human’s neck, drinking deeply, greedily. Her hand dipped into the wound once more, tearing it open, wanting to feel as the body went limp from the inside. 

There was a surge of energy in her veins, a gnawing that told her to drink deeper, every drop, every last whisper. And she obeyed, clutching at the open wound, crawling under the skin to be closer to her heart. So shallow, so nearly empty, but the organ persisted. Agatha pressed down, cracking ribs between her fingers as she dug, face parting from the woman’s neck as the blood began to bitter. 

Only when she could feel the very nearly still heart, did Agatha’s hand steady. With her mind in a frenzied haze, she gripped the organ and tore it from the corpse. The final shreds of life that drizzled into her throat were magnificent, directly from the source, not the vein. Her fangs sank into a valve, ensuring the last drops were not spared, when she heard him behind her, a low, approving rumble sounding in his chest.

He lowered himself beside her with a hand at her back, careful to fix his attire as he crouched. Agatha released the heart and dropped it to the lifeless body below. Her eyes were nearly black as she panted before him, blood hot on her breath and teeth covered in bits of muscle and shards of bone.

“You may understand the rules of the beast, but not even you can turn your back on its nature,” Dracula finalized as he reached for her face, cupping her bloodsoaked cheek. “I couldn’t bear the thought of you waking like that again.” 

She was beyond shame, drenched in the blood of another, as she looked upon him. Stilling in his hold, Agatha was unsure if she should lean into his touch or snap his wrist. Her body made the decision for her as she fell back, away from the corpse, and away from him. She swallowed as her eyes befell the horror of her work.

It reminded her of an infamous killer who had stalked the streets nearly sixty years prior. She had caught wind of the massacres in a letter from her detective friend, asking if it could possibly be the work of a vampire or other supernatural being. It was possible, but the man was never caught and went silent after completing his work.

“Pull yourself together, Agatha. You’ve seen much worse than this,” he started absently as he scooped the body from the ground, tucking the heart in the cavity she created. Dracula peered over the cliff, sizing the distance, and let the corpse plummet into the frothing waters below without sticking around to see if it hit the bottom. “There you go. Back on your feet. Feeling better?”

She stood as he turned around and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. It did little to fix her appearance, but the way Dracula looked at her would convince a blind man otherwise. She shivered at the sight, curling in on herself as she swayed between disgust and satisfaction. He was right. A beast can only deny its nature for so long, but she was more than such a creature.

She had to be. 

**Author's Note:**

> Rest in pieces Mathieu de la Fontaine, my sweet summer child.  
> I do apologize if the ending feels rushed. I am exhausted but when I set a deadline, I don't break it.  
> It's 2020, We hold ourselves accountable in this house.  
> Anyway, now that we've finally broken the seal, let's get into the meaty bits for part five!!


End file.
